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Haley Sledge

Haley is a senior at Loyola and is majoring in Religious Studies and Southern Studies, and is minoring in English. She read poetry at the November 6th reading.

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“to meet death tall dark and handsome”

tic tac shellac

I dig you

a bruiser

a minted

slick back

lip tapped

so remember where I’m from

remember my middle name

because sooner

rather than later

I’ll be more that a chapped lip

skin flap

more that a hum between thighs

I’ll be high up and far away

and shelling out paper

to know what I don’t like

in the city

about myself

on a bridge

late at night

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Meet Carolyn Hembree

photo courtesy of press-street.com

Carolyn Hembree’s poems have appeared in Colorado Review, DIAGRAM, Gulf Coast, jubilat, Verse Daily and Witness, among other journals and anthologies. Kore Press published her debut collection, Skinny, in 2012. She teaches at the University of New Orleans and serves as Poetry Editor of Bayou.

“The Goner”

They’ll read something like it somewhere—

wronged one longed all along for the long gone wrong one

wool over this one’s eyes, steel wool

in that one’s mouth, a half-eaten blood orange

on the floor of some abode, some dust

devil of angel dust, where, half-senseless

in a half-slip, a drama mama fans herself

with an automatic, strung along

by this mind reader, that peter

meter, another string bikini’d string bean

who in a string of bad language unstrung

my mind—a gripe a gulp a growl a glint a goring

from Skinny (Kore Press 2012)

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Andy Stallings

Here is a picture of Andy from the 1718 event on Tuesday, October 2nd.

Andy Stallings lives in New
Orleans and teaches creative writing at Tulane University. He is a
graduate of the Iowa Writers’ workshop, co-edits THERMOS, and focuses
otherwise on his children, Esme and Curran.

Below is one of Andy’s poems titled “They won’t tattoo you again”

They won’t tattoo you again, they’re finished – you can bury dear addiction, you can rise, you can rise

Sleepless, I’m shot up on gratitude                                                                                                                                                Never so grateful as when I grieve                                                                                                                                           Whoever’s near crying “No…no…”

Salt in the air                broken by you child

I’m trying to construct a handshake: American boy, American contract, tears & spray paint in American palm

What you’ve asked I carry         can’t care can’t / clarify

Love in its living ordinary
American love
candid & beery

in the vacuum where an airport / enters

His deepest fears ordinary                   one-bulb,
skin breaks out in a rash from sleeping, waiting, sleeping, waiting, waiting

Child on the day of your seizure / born to me

May this skin never sack with absence

nearby crying
“No…my baby…no, no”

And feels that [persons] around the world should hate one                                                                                              Should hate one’s children

Uncle, Grandmother, Father, Mother

Self

Not that we “abandon one another”: the abandoning

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